you can’t take all what hides underneath your sunbrella to your grave
you need to hold on to your stories
then lay them out—for free
to those who need them
like the stories about my father and his spoon
Robin and a rapist that climbed in through my bedroom window
those all start at the shaft of this sunbrella
i hold on tightly to them because
all the other stories branch out from that starter point
and secrets? those shouldn’t be kept either or else they’d haunt me
so I’m trying to ritualistically find a way
to lay them out without scaring myself
and bake them off
to thе real world—to heaven.
еternally